


Laying Siege

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war’s over, but Aria and Wrex have four hundred years of unfinished business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains full spoilers for the recent Omega DLC. It also covers events and characters only described in the three Mass Effect novelizations and the Mass Effect: Invasion comic. If discussion of a lot of canon character death causes distress, then this is not going to be a fun story.

She had just enough time to count the grenades. Five, one shy of a full belt. Instead of reacting, summoning her biotics to cast another barrier to absorb the blast, she had counted. Ten seconds earlier and there would have been enough time to stop Nyreen from even thinking it. She had been strong enough to take down three adjutants; nothing could have stopped her after the reactor. Everyone on Omega knew she would have killed until she was up to her neck in blood, but the turian had run ahead to stop her. _Ten fucking seconds–_

“Someone’s asking for you at the ‘dock, boss.”

Aria blinked, looking up from the datapad in her lap. It was still blank. The batarian who spoke – Bray – shifted from toe to toe. His assault rifle rested against his stomach, thumb right near the safety. Two years on Omega hadn’t been enough to cut the roundness out of his face, although he was growing into a set of broad shoulders. Young, too young; Cerberus’ invasion and the fall of the Hegemony had culled her workforce to the bare minimum, but Bray had proven himself when she’d taken the station back. He’d lived and he hadn’t run. That was about all she could ask for these days.

“What did they look like?” Aria asked.

He shrugged. “Krogan. Definitely not Blood Pack. No colors at all, actually.”

“And their ship?”

Four eyes quickly blinked. “Alliance. It looked pretty roughed up, though. They probably stole it to get out of the DMZ.”

Aria stood up from the couch, letting the datapad fall flat where she had just been sitting. “So there’s more than one? That’s an important detail to leave out, Bray.”

He cleared his throat quietly, tilting his head to the left. “Two. The ship’s small; there’s no way any more of them fit in there.”

Aria bit back an anecdote about the time she’d seen eight krogan explode out of a shuttle. The risk to cutting out that much structural support meant the ship could crumple if it missed a relay trajectory by just a sliver. As concerned as she was about security, she had to admit the chances of that stunt happening twice were low. Her men weren’t quite as suicidal as Patriarch’s.

“How did they ask for me? Exact words.”

“He – the bigger one – said, ‘I want to see if Aria T’Loak’s alive and kicking’. I told him he could come present himself at the club. He told me he wasn’t going anywhere until he was,” Bray made quick quotes with his fingers, “sure. The other krogan didn’t talk. His face was covered.”

It only took a second for Aria to run down a list of enemies; the Reapers had done her the favor of wiping almost all of them off the map. Those who belonged to Cerberus, of course, had been executed with great prejudice. Ganar Wrang was the only krogan who came to mind, and he would have rather given up half his quad than leave his colors behind.

“Keep an eye on the couch.” She said. “I’ll go show my face and see if anything shoots back.”

“Do you want back-up, boss?” Bray asked.

“I crippled a krogan to take this station, and then I killed dozen of people to get it back. If a pair of tourists can catch me off-guard, Omega deserves a better leader.”

With that said, Aria turned on her heel, descending the stairs off the dais. Afterlife was busy for mid-week; a lystheni bassist had drawn a lot more attention than expected. To say the music was experimental put it mildly, but she had to give her girls credit – they really could dance to anything. A few smiled at her as she walked by, one blew a kiss. They were good at pretending, acting like she hadn’t changed since coming back. The club was the same even if most of the faces had changed.

“Sen.” Aria said, approaching the main door. The vorcha standing guard immediately straightened her back, offering a greeting full of teeth. “Everything calm tonight?”

“No one trying to hop the line.” Sen gave the smallest shake of her head, the sides of her mouth briefly twitching. Vorcha went through more microexpressions than salarians did. “Just had to escort out a customer for asking a dancer to ride him.”

Aria blinked. “They’re allowed to do that, Sen. It’s a thousand credits extra, but–”

“No.” Another head shake. “Ride on his back. He was elcor, wanted to go in circles outside on the street.”

“That’s a new one.” She muttered under her breath. “Keep him banned for a week and we’ll hope he’s gotten that out of his system.”

Sen nodded. “Okay, boss.”

It wasn’t until Aria was alone in the main tunnel, surrounded by the glow of false fire, that she reached into her jacket. The salarian pistol concealed there was minuscule, thin enough to be kept under the short jacket without offering any clue to its presence. It only could fire three shots, but each one packed a hell of a punch. Two would take down a krogan at point blank, leaving her short one bullet, but that’s what biotics were for. She would rather have the element of surprise than the full clip of a shotgun.

The main street was quiet, save for a couple of mercenaries having a smoke break by a closed booth. Their colors were independent, a common sight after the war. Despite the mass of Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse soldiers Aria had sent to Earth, almost none of them had come back. The relay system still lacked a few crucial repairs, most of them in the Terminus side of space. She had left the gangs for dead, deserters, or lost, leaving a vacuum of power for the refugees and survivors to fight over. Omega was always dying and being born again.

Her boots scraped new steel, the floor just laid a month ago. It had been a gap for two years, covered with temporary materials until she finally paid for the replacement. The credits had been there, they always were, but it had been like building on top of someone’s grave.

Not someone. Nyreen.

With Liselle and her mother, there had been bodies left to cremate, even if Aria couldn’t permit herself to grieve. Nyreen had already burned, etched into the metal; if there was anything left behind, it had been dispersed by the crowd that had come to see her retake her throne, oblivious to the sacrifice. Aria had the floor removed the next day, hanging the scorched piece of steel on a wall in her apartment. It was a reminder, like the taste of blood in the back of her mouth. Someone had to remember.

Death had come relentlessly, back to back to back. Her daughter, Anto, even Mordin. She hadn’t been able to interrogate Shepard for details on the latter, but the news had spread slowly after the Reapers’ destruction. He died curing the genophage, rewriting history. Nothing like Anto or Liselle. Aria had learned centuries ago to stop counting on longer lives, but they had deserved better deaths. Nyreen went out like a hero, like turians at their most infuriating always did, but Aria would have chained her to the damn eezo reactor if it would have saved her life.

It was a long walk to the docks without the swell of a crowd pushing her to move faster. The vents near her feet led from the eezo processing floor, offering up the familiar mix of hot steel and ozone. If Aria closed her eyes and listened, she could hear the miners calling out to one another to move the night’s haul onto the conveyor belts. 

Centuries on Omega had given the unions their own dialect and slang; it had taken her a few decades to learn it, word by word. Her nickname was the _red collar_ down there – if they said a man was acting like he had a red collar around his neck, it meant he thought he was going to die. _White collar_ was from the new generation of miners, humans mostly. It fit, almost. Too much of her crime involved violence to qualify.

A pair of batarian guards flanked the entrance to the docks, her symbol branded into each hardsuit. Aria returned their salutes with a nod, passing through the entryway. If they weren’t on alert, the krogan must have made a quiet entrance. There was a first time for everything.

She walked past half a dozen scuttled ships being stripped for parts, scanning each bay until finding what she was looking for. The shuttle had seen hell and back. Aria’s lips tightened into a frown as she approached, examining the faded Alliance logo on the side. Humanity had allied themselves with the krogan during the war; it didn’t make sense for the latter to start stealing ships and not even strip the paint. 

Making a slow circle around the shuttle, she kept her arms by her sides, resisting the temptation to reach for her pistol. For all Aria knew, this was some self-made warlord who had the arrogance to demand she greet him in person. That kind of sheer stupidity seemed a bit less likely than an old enemy, even if she didn’t have many left.

Nothing would have made her expect to see that thick red crest, the jagged and familiar scars. She had given him the gash above his nose centuries ago, a barrier stopping her bullet from piercing between his eyes at the very last second. It had been Aria’s warning shot before the chase began in earnest, before three days of turning that salarian station into an obstacle course. Dozens of traps and he had still caught up to her, bloodied and exhausted, forced to fall back onto her very last plan. The one that had set her on a straight trajectory for a new life on Omega.

“Urdnot Wrex.” Aria fought to keep the surprise out of her voice. There was a subtle shift behind him, the flash of a second set of yellow eyes. He wasn’t alone. “I thought something would have killed you by now.”

“Strange.” The krogan smiled, showing both rows of teeth. “I was about to say the same to you, Aleena.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aria had the barrel of her pistol shoved against Wrex’s chest before either krogan could even flinch.

“Call me that again and I’ll take out both hearts, Wrex.” Her thumb flipped off the safety, pushing the gun forward with a little more force.

“You should change that ink if you don’t want to be recognized, T’Loak.” Wrex said. “And your last name. You’ve gotten lazy in your old age.”

“I burned through almost every alias I had to get here. There didn’t seem to be any point in lying after High Command informed me I wouldn’t be getting the title of matriarch. Imagine my surprise.” Her grip on the gun didn’t ease up, despite the casual tone. “But that was true centuries ago. What made you get your ass up off Tuchanka to find out?”

The second krogan stepped forward and Aria tensed, her free hand clenching into a fist and ready to summon her biotics. Raising both hands to show they were, _she_ \- Aria realized she should have known from the veil, much less the voice – said, “Before he decides to answer that with a lie, we’re here on business. Commander Shepard informed us you might be of assistance.”

Aria’s eyes shifted back to Wrex. “Shepard gave you a few details and you put two and two together.”

“No other asari does the reckless shit you do and survives.” He let out a low chuckle. “You can’t really help if word gets around.”

She carefully lowered the pistol, finger idling on the safety for a moment before she flipped it back on and holstered the gun. “Your friend still hasn’t introduced herself.”

Wrex tilted his head towards her, a deference Aria hadn’t seen before. “My mate.”

“I am Urdnot Bakara.” She offered a slight bow from the shoulders and up. “And your reputation precedes you, Aria.”

“It usually does.” Aria returned the bow with a smile, her interest piqued. “I never saw you settling down, Wrex, genophage or otherwise.”

He shrugged. “You can’t stud forever. Although by the lack of a bracelet on your wrist, you’ve been doing a fair job. Unless some other krogan knocked you through a wall and off your feet.”

Aria’s smile froze and slowly faded. There had already been a chance – two if Nyreen was counted, although they always were too at odds to tie a knot – and it was wasted. Liselle and her mother were in the air, ashes. Even after the war, she hadn’t let anyone know. She had kept a secret from all of Omega, from the Shadow Broker and Cerberus, for more than a hundred fifty years. It would be a shame to give it up so easily now.

“No.” She said. “There’s no one, unless you count the dancers.”

“Which he’s liable to do.” Bakara replied, amusement rumbling through her voice. “As am I. This is my first time on Omega.”

Aria glanced around the platform, the abandoned rigging and puddles of engine grease. “Then this isn’t the place to welcome you. What kind of business are we talking?”

Wrex grunted. “The kind that deserves a bottle of ryncol instead of talking on the dry docks.”

Her fingers twitched out of habit, the muted reflex to summon her biotics as she considered the next step. The power was second-nature, a hair trigger, but it had kept her alive this long. Wrex had always been straight with her, even when they agreed to end things. If he was going to try and kill her, it would have been the moment she stepped past the door. No denial, no deliberation. The chance for an ambush was gone, and the only assassins who had gotten close had depended on the element of a surprise. There was a reason all of her scars were on her back.

Aria turned on her heel, making a vague gesture. “I suppose the king of Tuchanka deserves a VIP table.”

“Am I going to hear about that this entire time?” Wrex asked, moving to follow. “How would you like it if I called you Queen Aria?”

Bakara laughed, her eyes bright. “I can already tell you both have so much in common.”

\---

The bassist had retired for the night by the time Aria crossed Afterlife’s threshold again. Illium techno had replaced the hypnotizing melody, intent on shaking every glass on the bar. Sen didn’t blink at Wrex or Bakara, more concerned with minding the line than wondering why her boss was escorting krogan around. Aria appreciated the discretion; it was always hard to come by.

She walked up to the front counter and tapped it with her knuckles. The turian on duty jumped, nearly cutting his finger. A dozen split cherries lay on a cutting board next to his hand; the delicacy was human, but popular.

“Give me the ryncol under the counter, Razin.” Aria said. “Last century’s vintage, with two glasses.”

“Of course, boss.” 

The bartender dropped the knife in the sink and ducked down, entering the security code on the cabinet. Ryncol was always served at room temperature; cold ruined it. 

“And three shots of Armali whiskey.” Aria added, on second thought. Surviving ryncol poisoning once in her commando years didn’t mean she was intent on repeating the experience.

He prepared the tray carefully, filling the shots just short of the brim in quick succession. The ryncol bottle placed beside them was in the old krogan style; the two components were separated by a thin pane of glass that was shattered when the seal on top was broken. Aria had seen more than one tourist miss the fact that the cork could be turned upside down and used as a filter for the pour; despite the reputation, krogan didn’t actually drink ground glass. It wasn’t worth the stomachache.

Razin capped the whiskey and moved to pick up the tray. Aria stopped him by extending her hand.

“I’ll take it. Get back to work.” She said.

Turian expressions were always harder to read, but the faint flexion of his mandibles betrayed volumes of surprise. Aria hoisted the tray carefully and glanced over her shoulder to meet Wrex’s gaze. He smiled before Bakara tapped his shoulder and muttered something under her breath.

“She wants to know how your clients feel safe with trained biotics grinding in their lap.” Wrex chuckled.

Aria got as far as raising a brow before Bakara interrupted. “Dancers are lithe, but the muscle is usually all in their legs. Your…girls have balance, like commandos do.”

“I didn’t think many commandos spent time on Tuchanka.” Aria replied, careful to cut the coldness out of her voice. The comment wasn’t a threat, just curiosity.

“The war took me away from home for many reasons, but I remember stories of the Rebellions from my mother too, Aria. Your kind is deadly.”

“We are.” Her lips curved in a slow smile. “I don’t mind the confusion, though. It’s in my best interest to be underestimated.”

“Is it?” Bakara asked, her head tilting slightly. “You’re denied a worthy enemy.”

Aria’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She had to wonder how much Wrex had shared with Bakara; the century between was ample time to gather ammunition, she knew that well enough. There was a sharp mind behind the veil, honed by hundreds of years of experiences that were alien to her. The only other krogan female Aria had met was a mercenary who had taken on the name Shiagur after the legendary warlord, and it was her size that had made her a capable threat, not her intelligence.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had one.” She finally answered, shifting the tray carefully before heading towards the stairs.

The whiskey trembled when Aria set it on the table; even the soundproofing around the booth at the foot of the couch wasn’t enough to silence the steady bass echoing through the club. She waited for Wrex and Bakara to sit before her palm came down flat on the top of the ryncol bottle, cracking the seal. Tempting as it was to do her old biotic spark trick to flip open the cork, the pressure inside the bottle made it a bad idea.

Aria watched the blue and green liquids settle together before turning both the seal and the bottle over, pouring a generous amount of ryncol into each glass. She remembered Wrex telling her once that there had been intricate rituals for it on Tuchanka before the genophage, before it was used to blunt rage instead of invite conversation.

He raised his cup as soon as she closed the bottle. “How about a toast?”

“What to?” Aria asked, fingers catching on the rim of one of the whiskey shots. 

Bakara carefully removed her veil, folding the dark fabric with a practiced hand. Gold threads still hung over her brow, a symbol of her role as a shaman. Aria remembered that much from the old stories; the krogan without weapons who could still call a thousand soldiers to stand and fight. It reminded her of a justicar’s jewelry, ever-present symbols of strength and pride. Her gaze idled on Bakara’s fingers, the careful gestures that hid the veil in an unseen pouch and curved around the glass of ryncol.

“To living long enough to see things change.” Wrex said. His eyes briefly flickered to Bakara, then back again to Aria.

“Easy for you to say.” She muttered. “The asari will be licking their wounds until the word ‘provisional’ gets removed from the front of Councilor again.”

“Like you give a pyjak’s ass about the Council.” He raised his glass a bit higher. “Drink.”

The whiskey burned down her throat before it settled. Aria set the glass on the tray with a soft clink. Both ryncol glasses hit the table a second later.

“Now, what’s your business?” She asked.

“Element zero.” Bakara replied. 

Wrex shifted in his seat slightly, but didn’t counter the words. “The Council’s still deciding how they’re going to vote and stall and piss everyone off again, but in the interim, they granted Tuchanka the right to a small fleet. It has to be ninety percent cargo and carrier ships, but the rest can carry an arsenal. In return, we’re not seeking any colonies off-world until Citadel government is stable.”

Aria raised a brow. “Did they actually give you ships?”

“No.” A growl edged into Wrex’s voice. “But we have enough mechanics and spare parts to build them from the ground up. What we’re missing is fuel. Tuchanka has less eezo in it than a commando’s piss.”

Aria let out a soft laugh and downed the second shot. “You had enough to get here.”

“We had to cut the heart out of the last Reaper in the middle of a damn desert to drain the fuel to get here. You should be flattered.” Wrex said.

“Several relays on the DMZ borders are still going cold.” Bakara picked up the ryncol bottle and filled her glass close to the brim. “We thought it was best to avoid them until we hit the Terminus border.”

“Going cold?” Aria asked. “There are plenty here that are out of sync, but most of the routes have been recalculated already.”

“They just go out.” Wrex shrugged. “Sometimes with ships halfway between them. Leaves a field of debris in the middle of space with no survivors. Then a day or a week later, the relay powers back on like nothing ever happened. All those Crucible scientists are trying to fix it, but it’s not like we ever knew much about the damn things in the first place.”

“How much eezo are we talking? I gave six months stock to Shepard when she was here, but most of my shipments are going out to Illium. The CEOs there bunkered down in the battle with trillions of credits of anti-aircraft guns and came out with only a few scratches. They pay a premium so I don’t gouge into Citadel space.”

Wrex and Bakara shared a glance before he answered. “Enough to power the equivalent of the Terminus raider fleet for a decade.”

Aria’s fingers tensed around the third shot of whiskey. “That’s a lot of fucking eezo, Wrex.”

“You don’t have it?” He asked.

Her lips pursed. “I didn’t say that.”

She did the calculations in her head; the tonnage, the cost to rent cargo vessels out of Illium for a large haul, not to mention protection. The krogan could easily guard it when it got there, but they didn’t have the fuel or the transport for the initial trip. It would be the biggest trade the station had seen since she had made the Illium-Omega shipping lane official two hundred years ago.

“It’ll take time and it won’t be free.” Aria said. “But let’s deal.”


End file.
